


If You're A Heretic Then So Am I

by thefarofixer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefarofixer/pseuds/thefarofixer
Summary: “Oh great,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Bad enough I thought you were a fanatic. It’s even worse: you’re a goddamn optimist.”





	If You're A Heretic Then So Am I

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first stab at a piece for the Glory! Castiel zine, but it ended up both being too long and felt too much like a slice of a larger story versus a stand-alone piece so I ended up scrapping it, although I kinda liked the vibe of it so here we are.

Castiel feels...unsettled. 

Although his human vessel can be susceptible to injury in a fight, for him to repair it takes but a moment’s thought and a molecule of Grace. And while he technically is able to experience pain in that he knows when his vessel is sending neurological signals that to a human would register as discomfort or agony, he doesn’t actually _feel_ it per se at his Grace level. Which is why it’s strange that he feels so _unsettled_ as the building’s elevator takes him down below the lobby, below the garage level and down to the sub-basement. _Claustrophobia_ , he recalls. It’s a purely human concept, but it’s the nearest he thinks he can get to describe this feeling in human English. 

Perhaps it’s the effect of his true form compacting itself to be contained in this small human vessel combined with the distance from the open sky. Heaven is nothing but a series of wide open spaces, and Castiel thinks with a slight shock as he gets off the elevator that it’s possible he’s never been in a room without windows in the few decades since he was assigned to Earth. Perhaps it’s going so deep within a building that houses so many confiscated dark artifacts and has so many warded spaces. Or maybe he’s already succumbing to human-like emotions after his brief period on earth, just like he was warned against doing. Today is a big day for him, in more ways than one and it would not be unusual for a human in his position to be nervous, although as an angel he should be immune to such things. 

Although Castiel knows that the Department of Supernatural Security or DoSS as it’s better known is federally well funded, as he steps out of the elevator and looks around he thinks its sub-basement seems to harken back to a time when it was not. Buzzing fluorescent lighting illuminates one end of the hallway, the other descending into darkness. He doesn’t technically need light to see, thankfully, so Castiel peers down and dismisses the rooms cloaked in darkness as the abandoned storage that they are. Rodent chewed banker’s boxes filled with outdated files are not why he’s here. 

There’s music drifting down the more illuminated of the two hallways, and although Castiel is not generally an expert on human music, it’s loud and raucous and he thinks it would not have been out of place several decades ago. He follows the sounds, wincing slightly as he pushes open the door at the end of the hall and is assaulted with the full force of the music speaker’s volume. It takes but a wave of his hand to turn it off, leaving nothing but blissful silence and the quiet breathing of the room’s solitary inhabitant. 

“You pushed B2 instead of 2,” the man hunched over the office’s single desk says without looking up from the phone he’d been scrolling through. “The Demonic Activity and Possession Prevention Department is on the second floor, not down in the basement. They’ve got a really nice cafe that overlooks the street, just don’t get the breakfast sandwiches. They’re a rip-off. Two words: egg whites. Good paninis though.” 

“I’m not here about a possession,” Castiel replies. The man finally looks up, and even though he knows he’s in the right place, _finally_ , Castiel’s first thought is _there must be some kind of mistake_. “And I’m definitely not here about sandwiches.” 

“Well I already filed my taxes and I’m not looking to buy any encyclopedias,” the man says wryly, giving him an obviously incredulous once-over. 

“What,” Castiel says flatly. He glances down and smoothes his hands down the front of his trenchcoat despite himself. “No, I’m not selling anything either. My name is Castiel. I’m your new partner. You _are_ Agent Dean Winchester, correct?” 

“Last I checked,” the man, Dean, says. And it’s true, Castiel recognizes his face from the photos he’d been shown when given this assignment but seeing Dean Winchester in person for the first time feels akin to seeing the Grand Canyon or the Marianas Trench or Mount Everest in person for the first time. The old mugshot from his teenage years and more recent DoSS employee ID photos hadn’t prepared him for how vital and young Dean looks despite being a fully adult human. More importantly however they did not prepare him for how vibrant Dean’s soul looks, a pure, almost blinding light even in this dusty, darkened basement. 

“They didn’t tell you I was coming?” Castiel asks, shifting his hidden wings closer to his Grace and gathering himself together as he tries to focus back on the task at hand. 

“Yeah they aren’t like, super concerned with keeping me in the loop,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair and setting down his phone, finally looking curious instead of skeptical. “Why cc the DoSS’s most unwanted in your email chain while making major decisions about his department when you can just spring a new partner on him unexpectedly, am I right?” 

“I hadn’t realized you wouldn’t be informed,” Castiel says awkwardly looking around the room. It’s actually not as small as he’d initially thought, despite the claustrophobic feel of the basement in general. In fact had it been several floors higher it would have probably been a corner office coveted by the agency’s most ambitious up-and-comers. The furniture is out of date, admittedly, but the music speaker system is state of the art and there are several well kept plants under warm imitation sunlight, as well as rows upon rows of shelves with rare and powerful artifacts built into the walls that are probably there for practical reasons although to the uninformed could probably pass for merely aesthetic. 

“Look I haven’t had breakfast yet and this is only my second shitty cup of coffee so if we’re going to have this conversation it’s going to be with significantly more food and caffeine,” Dean says, standing and slipping on a surprisingly professional looking jacket over his two shoulder holsters, one holding what looks to be an heirloom revolver with anti-demonic ammunition, the other with a knife that he doesn’t recognize but feels almost uncanny to Castiel’s senses. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” 

“Dean, I may have been sent here to be your work partner, but you should know that I’m not human. I am an Angel of the Lord, we do not require human sustenance,” Castiel says, unable to stop himself from flexing his wings and his hands reflexively even though Dean won’t be able to see the posturing of his wings beyond a slight flickering of light and shadow behind him. 

“Yeah no shit,” Dean says, pausing in the doorway with an incredulous look. “I’m a supernatural investigator, you really think I’m so dumb I can’t peg an angel at thirty paces? Jesus, although I guess that’d explain why my office is down here where the sun don’t shine. Also I know naming kids after angels is all the rage right now but you gotta know that ‘Castiel’ still ain’t exactly the most popular choice. Anyways, just because you don’t _have_ to eat doesn’t mean you _can’t_ eat. You ever have waffles?” 

“No?” Castiel answers uncertainly. 

“Great. Let’s go.” 

XX 

The diner Dean brings him to is further from the DoSS building than he would have anticipated especially since they seem to pass half a dozen similar establishments as they walk. However considering Dean had lead him out a hidden side entrance instead of leaving from the front lobby of the building where he might have run into some of his coworkers, and considering the reputation Dean has that Castiel has been warned about, maybe he should have expected it. After coffee and waffles have been ordered, Dean leans back in the corner booth they’ve been seated at, spreading his arms confidently across the back of his seat and gives Castiel another piercing look. 

“So you’re my new partner. Okay. You’ve probably gotten some bullshit warning about how I’m a loose cannon who can’t be trusted with real cases so instead I run cold cases. Blah blah blah, I take on the cases that the FBI and DoSS have passed on as lost causes. I actually have a pretty impressively high turnover rate considering what they give me to work with, although they might’ve failed to mention that. Some turn out to be purely human cases that were mistaken for something more, some are genuinely supernatural, and some just remain cold. That’s just how it is. But over the past few years I’ve managed to solve a few supernatural cases that ended up being high profile enough for people to start to take notice, and in exchange for not taking credit for it and also keeping my mouth shut about how the agency wasn’t going to do jack shit about them, they let me keep the department up and running,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Although honestly sometimes I think the only reason they haven’t fired me is because they’re worried I’ll go vigilante and cause them an even bigger public relations crisis than I already have. I mean, which is fair. And I’ll take what I can get. But that deal has never included funding for backup or a partner. So what gives. Either you pissed someone off enough to get banished down to the basement as some kind of punishment, or you’ve been sent down here to spy on me. So which is it?” 

“I’m not sure what you think your work might involve that would warrant angelic surveillance,” Castiel demures with a shrug. 

“Okay, so maybe a little of both then,” Dean says, giving Castiel a curious look. “Wait, who _did_ you piss off?” 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Castiel replies after a pause, biting down on the reflexive _Michael_ in answer. “I’m just here to help.” 

“Right,” Dean says. “Castiel. I mean it’s clearly Angelic, but I don’t think I’ve heard that name before. New to the agency?” 

“Yes, this is my first assignment with the Department,” Castiel says. “But I’ve been on Earth for a number of decades.” 

“What, like a freelance angel?” Dean asks with a snort. 

“Mostly I was doing research,” Castiel replies. 

_“Mostly,_ ” Dean repeats pointedly. Although Castiel had seen his track record on cases, Dean is already sharper than Castiel had anticipated a human partner to be. That’ll be either an advantage or his undoing, although considering Dean’s blatant disrespect for authority, he thinks maybe this is why he’s here. 

There’s a pause in conversation when their food and coffee arrives. Their waitress has an average looking but still warmly glowing soul and Castiel is sure to thank her, something that earns him another curious look from Dean. Castiel watches back, and takes his cues from Dean as he prepares his meal and his steaming drink. Butter and maple syrup go on the food, sugar and cream in the coffee. Castiel wants to ask how he decides which goes where since essentially they are all variations on sugar and dairy products, but he keeps it to himself. The other angels have always found it odd, his preoccupation with insignificant human customs, and he thinks Dean likely won’t appreciate his ignorance about humanity. 

“I used to drink this black,” Dean says, taking a sip from his coffee before gesturing vaguely with the cup. “But at this point I figure people already have their opinions of me pretty set no matter what I do so fuck it, right. Life is too short.” 

“I see,” Castiel says, although he doesn’t. He takes a sip of his own and he’s not sure what his face must be doing but it makes Dean chuckle. 

“It can be an acquired taste for some people,” Dean says, clearly amused. 

“Why do people drink it then?” Castiel asks, since Dean has given him an opening. 

“Part of it is for the caffeine fix,” Dean replies, setting his cup down and digging his fork into his waffles. “A large part of it is just the ritual. Starting your day with something warm and familiar. It’s something of a cultural touchstone activity, drinking coffee together. Human connection.” 

“I see,” Castiel says again, and this time he thinks he does. He takes another sip, and wonders how long it would take him to ‘acquire’ a taste for this kind of human ritual. He once again follows Dean’s lead and takes a bite of his waffles, awkwardly trying to navigate the sticky syrup dripping from his fork. This time he can’t help but make a noise in reaction to his first bite. 

“More to your taste?” Dean asks, and amusement suits him, Castiel thinks. He looks less defensive and tense now than he did even an hour ago in his office. “Who knew angels had a sweet tooth.” 

Castiel chooses not to reply. It’s not a phrase he’s encountered before, but he knows he can err on the side of being too literal at times, and he thinks this is one of those situations when that would be a mistake, so he takes another moment to observe Dean with his glowing soul and relaxed stance in the diner booth now that they’re away from the DoSS headquarters’ shadow. When giving him this assignment Michael had warned Castiel of Dean’s contrary nature. He had called Dean ‘dangerous’ and Castiel now thinks he sees why. 

“What?” Dean asks, when they’re mostly finished with their meal and he notices that Castiel is still watching him. 

Castiel hesitates. He’d had a plan, before meeting Dean, full of tests and steps in order to judge Dean’s abilities and his character. He hadn’t expected to be fully honest with the man for months, maybe even years. Castiel had been fine with that. He’s millenia old, he knows how to be patient and this task is too important for him to risk on a human he may not be able to count on. 

And yet. 

Humans aren’t rational. They rely on what they call ‘gut instinct’ and emotional responses far more than they rely on rational thought, it seems, and while that goes against everything angels have been taught, Castiel thinks that maybe that’s exactly what he needs to do. Angelic obedience clearly hasn’t been working, so maybe he should start thinking and acting more like a human. 

So he stops thinking, and lets his instincts take over. Just like he had last month in a move that lead him here. To Dean. 

“We need to talk about my assignment as your partner,” Castiel says. 

“Yeah we do,” Dean agrees. 

“Not here though,” Castiel says, glancing about at the other humans in the diner. “There’s a park nearby.” 

“What is it with angels and parks,” Dean mutters, but he tosses down a few bills on the table and gestures for Castiel to follow him. They walk the few blocks to the park in silence and Castiel finds them an empty bench in the sun on the far side of a man-made pond. Sitting, he glances around to make sure they are reasonably alone, or as alone as one can be in a city this size. He can hear the sounds of distant traffic, and cheerful shrieks from a playground on the other side of the pond, but they are relatively isolated. This is it, he thinks. The point of no return. 

Castiel pulls his angelic blade out of his coat slightly, nicking the tip of one finger just enough for a small amount of blood to well up. He quickly sketches a symbol on the bench between them before hiding the blade away again. 

“What the hell?” Dean mutters. 

“It’ll protect us from any sort of surveillance, electronic, angelic or otherwise,” Castiel explains. “Again, supernatural investigator here, I know what that symbol does, but that doesn’t explain why the hell you’re drawing it,” Dean says. 

“You were right,” Castiel says. “I wasn’t assigned to you randomly. And I’m not _just_ here to help.” 

“You son of a bitch,” Dean exclaims, shifting away from him with a betrayed expression. “I knew this shit was too good to be true. So what, they’re trying to shut me down? They want to make me the fall guy for some bullshit PR disaster? Kill two birds with one stone? I bet it’s that asshole Zachariah, he’s always…” 

“I do not know what their true plans are for you,” Castiel admits. “They told me nothing except that they wanted to rein you in a little, and that to get back into Heaven’s good graces I would need to get you back in line. They think you’ve become dangerously independent.” 

“Yeah I bet they do,” Dean says. “Why are you telling me this? And just what did you do to fall _out_ of ‘Heaven’s good graces’?” 

“I saved somebody instead of killing them,” Castiel says. “I was supposed to eradicate a demon without regard to its host, but I sent the demon back to Hell and saved the human instead. Regardless of your intent or the outcome of an action, Heaven frowns upon disobedience of any kind.” 

“Yeah no shit,” Dean says. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, trying to gather his thoughts. “They assigned me as your partner as a punishment to both of us, but I believe that there is a higher purpose to our meeting like this. There’s something I’ve been working on for some time now. Something I haven’t been able to do on my own, that my superiors in Heaven wouldn’t approve of. But I think maybe you can help me.” 

“Um, that sounds ominous,” Dean says, frowning. “Just what do you think I can help you with that somebody else can’t? I may be good at my job but I’m still just a human.” 

“I believe you can help me in my search for God,” Castiel says. There’s a moment while Dean just stares at him, and Castiel feels a slight swell of irritation at the lack of response at a declaration that has been eating at Castiel for some time now. 

“You want _me_ to help _you_ find God,” Dean says incredulously. 

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “And I know it may seem like an overwhelming task but I have come to believe that you are the only one who can help me with this.” 

“Overwhelming? Cas, I don’t even know if I believe in God,” Dean says. 

“That’s…” Castiel has a moment where he’s at a complete loss. “Dean, you _work with angels._ ” 

“Yeah, sure, but I see them everyday,” Dean replies easily. “I’ve never seen God, or heard God’s voice, or found any evidence They exist. And considering you’re on the hunt for God, it sounds like neither have you.” 

“I know God exists,” Castiel insists. He feels adrift in this conversation suddenly. He had thought Dean might be resistant to this mission, but hadn’t expected denial on this scale. “I may have never spoken to Them, but we used to feel Their warmth. It has since...faded.” 

“Okay so say that God does exist. Have you ever considered maybe They don’t want to be found?” Dean asks, leaning forward. 

“I have considered it. Thoroughly. That God might have left for a reason. That God might be dead, even. But whatever the answer is, we need to know for certain. The archangels have become increasingly controlling, working their own agendas even as God’s guidance has slipped away from us, but they still speak and act as though they are directly carrying out Their will. If we are, in fact, truly on our own, we as angels must be able to make our choices in light of that information. We deserve the truth. And no matter what the answer is, I will find that truth. I do not believe God would abandon us without leaving some sort of message. And Heaven may not care but I do. It may not be sanctioned but I have chosen this mission and I will not fail in it.” 

“Oh great,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Bad enough I thought you were a fanatic. It’s even worse though: you’re a goddamn optimist.” 

“I see nothing wrong in having hope,” Castiel says stiffly. “Your mission is not so different. Saving people. Hunting evil. I would have thought you’d understand.” 

“That’s different,” Dean protests. 

“How?” Castiel asks. “How is it different?” 

“It just is,” Dean says. “Look I’m not here to join up with some holy crusade behind the Archangels’ backs. So the world is going to hell in a handbasket, that just means the rest of us fight twice as hard. Not that we go tilting at Heavenly windmills.” 

“Heaven has no windmills, they would be unnecessary,” Castiel says. “Dean, listen. When I started this search, everywhere I looked I found you. Your name kept cropping up again and again no matter who I spoke to. The demon I fought, the human I saved, both had your name on their lips. I met your brother in California at a Men of Letters library where I had been sent to find an ancient text. I met your mother in Kansas, purely by accident when following a lead. When I failed to complete an assignment in a satisfactory manner because I chose to save someone, I was sent here. To _you_. I do not believe that is coincidence.” 

“Baader-Meinhof,” Dean says. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Castiel says irritably. 

“It’s when you don’t know or care about something, then after you learn about it just once, you suddenly see it everywhere,” Dean says impatiently. “But just because it seems like a pattern doesn’t mean it’s not still just a coincidence, I come from a Legacy family, you probably would have run into me sooner or later. You were looking for a sign in your search, so you were going to find one no matter what. That doesn’t mean I’m the one who’s supposed to help you with this. Or that I’m even capable of it. Just what do you think I’m going to be able to do to look for God? I find missing persons, not missing deities.” 

“You’re underselling yourself,” Castiel chides. “The stakes may have been lower on your cases so far, but you have unparalleled instincts when it comes to investigation. You see what no one else sees, you look at the world and you refuse to give up, even when everyone else has. Your entire department is a lost cause, and yet you continue to fight and you continue to succeed. You help people every day, even though all of the odds are against you. Dean, you are the _onl_ y one who can help me.” 

“That’s uh, that’s not a bad sales pitch,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face. He sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees as he seemingly thinks it over. He glances at Castiel a couple times before gazing out over the water, shaking his head slightly and sitting back up, shoulders straight and confident. 

“Okay, how about this,” Dean says slowly. He has a determined look on his face that only makes Castiel more certain that he is on the right path now. “I’ll help you with your search. I may not believe in it, but I’ll help you however you think I can, because you certainly believe in it yourself and you seem like a decent enough guy, for an angel.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, trying to infuse his voice with as much gratitude as he can. 

“There’s a catch though,” Dean says, holding up a finger. “I want something in return.” 

“Anything,” Castiel replies immediately. Under different circumstances he might be wary of making promises before knowing what they are, but even though it has been less than a day since he first set eyes on Dean’s soul he thinks he can trust him. He believes deep in his Grace that there is nothing that Dean might ask of him that he would not agree to. 

“Let me introduce you to humanity,” Dean says. “Beyond morning coffee, beyond walks in the park. Let yourself really get down here in the dirt with us lowly humans. You angels come down here all the time, judging us, trying to control us. Even when you work beside us you keep humans at arms length like you’re going to catch the plague from us. If you think you deserve to find _God_ , shouldn’t you at least get to know his creations a little better?” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Castiel says. He tries not to think what his superiors would say if they could hear this. They are going to have to be very very careful, from now on. 

“Okay,” Dean says, letting out a long slow breath. He holds his hand out and Castiel shakes it, firmly. It is perhaps the first time someone has touched him in his human vessel that has not been in the course of a violent fight. His hand tingles. “Oh man I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.” 

“Maybe,” Castiel allows. “But I don’t believe that I will.” 

“Optimist,” Dean scoffs, but there’s a smile on his face this time. 

“Not an optimist, a believer,” Castiel replies. “And I believe that in all the ways that matter you are too.” 

“We’ll see,” Dean says. 

“I have faith that we will,” Castiel says. He looks up at the wide blue sky above them, lets himself smell the warm earth air, listens to the birds sing around them, children shrieking in delight at the playground nearby. He thinks his Grace has never felt more powerful than here, in this moment. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth of the sun heat the skin of his face. For the first time the doubts that have dogged his thoughts fall away. He may not know what lies in store for them, but he has faith that he is right where he needs to be.


End file.
